


Size and Place

by AgateHearts



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Gen, There's so much space to imagine in the Star Wars universe, quiet moments, thoughtful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 20:56:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17669930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgateHearts/pseuds/AgateHearts
Summary: Finding your place in the universe can be as simple as closing your eyes and taking a breath. Chirrut forgets that sometimes.





	Size and Place

Chirrut was sitting on the edge of the mesa, “overlooking” everything.  
  
Baze had shouted at him once, finding him sitting this close to the edge, where the winds could scrape you off and fling you like a handful of sand to scatter on the rockfloor below.  
  
“And that’s if you don’t hit the barrier wall on the way down! Chirrut!” Baze’s hand had been fisted in the front of his robes, his bandolier jogging against Baze’s forearm.  
  
When Chirrut had said nothing Baze had dragged him into a tight hug that said all that Baze’s tongue couldn’t— _I can’t lose you too. Not like that. Not for nothing. Don’t leave me, don’t go._ Chirrut had responded to the unspoken pain, hugging Baze back fiercely.  
  
Chirrut was back here, but this time he remembered Baze’s sorrow, the sour tang of Baze’s terror mixed with fury. The fury he minded not at all, but he wouldn’t have Baze be sad, not on his account, not after everything. So this time he was wedged into a depression in the wall, legs folded tightly, unable to fall. He listened.  
  
The space was vast. It sounded so different from the closed-in alleys of NiJedha, teeming with life of all kinds; even the ones that were “empty” had onoorats rustling through waste and the buzz of njaars veening within the shelter of crevices. This space was so large it didn’t echo; the wind whipped past him, its impact against his face as substantial as being buffeted by the wing of a bird, as intangible as the way the Force curled around his fingers when he fired his lightbow: there and gone before he could touch it.  
  
At night sometimes he would ask Baze to describe the stars, and lean back into the warm solidity of it, Baze’s gruff tone turning gentle and poetic as he outlined constellations and traced clusters, naming his favorites. He could see more when he wasn’t atop the mesa, gone on his journeys to make the money they needed to survive, to help others; he would describe those too, his memory and his sight blending into one experience for Chirrut, weaving sparkles and glimmers into the Force until it was more full of light than his eyes had ever been full of stars.  
  
Chirrut couldn’t capture that experience himself. But Chirrut felt so small, here. The blast of the wind, the taste of dry open space and the whisking brush of sand chafing his skin; it made him realize how tiny he was, when his world was limited to the reach of his staff, the range of the box at his waist, the words of his partner and his friends. The difference he made, they made, it was a difference; but out there, there were so many stars, there was such a vast space of world, all filled with the Force, all edged and laced with life, all tied together; and Chirrut could just be part of that, just one piece, just for a little while, until the time came again for him to rise and save the world one person at a time, one moment at a time, one kind word, one raid on the Imperials, one strike of his staff and one gentle shoulder touch at a time. Whatever was needed. Whatever was lacking. He would be there, he would follow the Force; for all was as the Force willed it. And as Chirrut willed it, too.  
  
He breathed deeply, tasting the wind, and turned his head as the box at his waist gave subtle feedback, affirming what he already knew about the presence behind him. “I’m not on the edge,” he said conversationally. “I won’t fall. I can’t. See?”  
  
Baze’s grumble cut across his ears, but the lack of outspoken protest made Chirrut smile at the small victory. Baze’s voice came again, sounding not upset, merely accepting. “I have stuffed mantou. Shall I keep some for you?”  
  
Chirrut’s smile widened, and he unfolded himself as gracefully as he could from his space, turning. “Yes, my old friend. Let’s go.”  
  
As he drew close Baze took his arm, but only to put a firm round loaf into his hand. Chirrut raised it to his lips; soft thick cheese and sharp spice melted and bit on his tongue, and he smiled his thanks. The wind brushed at his hair in a farewell as he stepped back into the place in his life, beside his friend, sharing an experience at just the right time and in just the right place.   
  
Here and now.


End file.
